Despite Adversity
by couchbarnacle
Summary: Sherlock's chasing after Moriarty and leaving John behind in the process. Lestrade is charged with picking up the pieces while navigating the landmines associated with the Holmes brothers. It's going to be a bumpy ride. Shameless smut and angst.
1. Chapter 1

Lestrade sat shifting uncomfortably on the plastic chair in the hospital waiting room running his hands roughly over his face with exhaustion and anxiety warring in his head. Twenty sodding minutes to get to the pool once the bomb exploded. By the time he'd arrived, the flames had already ebbed leaving a wrecked, blackened shell of a building housing his consulting detective. The ambulance had taken away Sherlock and Dr. Watson and he followed in a police car feeling fear grip his insides. They'd both been wheeled into surgery the minute they'd entered the hospital leaving him to wait, for four hours so far, for their prognosis. He'd been informed a few minutes ago about the positive news for Sherlock but Dr. Watson was in much worse shape. That tends to happen when certain Army doctor's shield their insane flatmates from explosions. He'd just tossed out his fourth cup of coffee when a pair of well-buffed shoes clicked into his field of vision.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade." The owner of the posh shoes bit out angrily.

"Mr. Holmes," Lestrade sighed. "I'm really in no mood."

"I really could care less about your mood," Mycroft said pointedly. "What I do care about is your role in this mess that Sherlock got himself wrapped up in."

"My role in all of this?" Lestrade asked taken aback. "What role exactly do you suppose I played?"

"Come now, Detective Inspector." Mycroft scoffed. "Overly emotional displays are beneath you. Please maintain some level of restraint."

"Fuck you." Lestrade growled out.

"Fine." Mycroft sniffed. "If you are so determined to engage in angry affectations, then perhaps we could go somewhere a bit more private so we don't have to subject the masses to your obvious shortcomings. Follow me."

Lestrade stomped after the posh twit down the corridor and into an abandoned office pointed out to them by his texting PA. Mycroft closed the door firmly behind him before shoving the shorter man roughly against the desk and pulling him into a searing kiss brutally shoving his wine-tinted tongue roughly into Lestrade's lips. Lestrade clung to Mycroft's lapels for dear life as the taller man claimed his mouth with each heated kiss. Lestrade's entire body trembled with desire and need and arousal so strong it made his knees weak. He whimpered softly as his erection brushed roughly against Mycroft's as the taller man canted his hips suggestively. Mycroft made quick work of his shirt buttons and was sucking at his jaw when Lestrade finally tried to gain a bit of control.

"Mycroft…" He gasped trying to think through the haze of dopamine flooding his system as the governmental official trailed a line of hot, wet licks down his neck to his collarbone. "Jesus…Mycroft…"

"Commentary really isn't necessary." Mycroft purred as he began grinding his hips causing Lestrade to moan loudly.

"Just…god…stop a second." Lestrade finally groaned.

"What?" Mycroft asked angrily. "What could you possibly have to say right now?"

Lestrade leaned back to stare into the eyes of Mycroft Holmes and saw more than he should. He saw fear and pain and uncertainty. He sighed at the realization and then proceeded with caution, "He's going to be fine, My."

"Attempts at intelligence don't suit you and I don't appreciate nor will I respond to nicknames." Mycroft said defensively before maneuvering Lestrade back onto the desk and claiming his mouth again. He knew it was an awful idea. He knew that what he felt for this brilliant man wasn't reciprocated. This had only ever happened twice before. Once when Sherlock had almost overdosed and another time when Mycroft's father died a year ago. He knew he was just a convenient outlet. The infuriating git had said so himself, but to feel close and taken by this man, to feel cherished for just a few short minutes was so heart wrenching to the Inspector that he would take it. These few minutes would hold him as long as he needed them to until the next time Mycroft deigned to seek him out for some carnal companionship. He jolted back into the moment at the sound of Mycroft ripping at his trouser buttons. He lifted up so that Mycroft could puddle the fabric until it hung off his left ankle. Mycroft pushed him down to lay flat against the desk as lube magically appeared in his hand. Lestrade writhed and whimpered as Mycroft pushed into him confidently with his finger. The shorter man's body opened up quickly and willingly under Mycroft's relentless ministrations. Gasping and bucking lightly, Lestrade felt his entire mind shatter at the first push of Mycroft's erection against his entrance. He hooked his legs tightly around Mycroft's suit jacket. The arse hadn't even undressed at all. Just whipped his erect cock out of his pants before pressing heavily into the inspector.

"You're always so fucking tight." Mycroft groaned letting his hips buck lightly as Lestrade adjusted to the length nestled inside him.

"Don't really have time for a regular fuck." Lestrade bit out as pleasure raced across his skin as Mycroft's cock brushed against his prostate.

Mycroft's only response was to hum quietly before pulling in and out slowly as Lestrade moaned heavily. Taking that as a sign, Mycroft began pounding into him rougher and harder with each slap of skin against skin. It was relentless and overwhelming and wonderful. Letrade gripped the sides of the desk tightly and let the feeling of it surround him with endorphins.

"Touch yourself," Mycroft growled. "I want to feel you come."

Lestrade grasped his achingly hard erection and used the precome trailing lightly down his cock to slick his hand before matching the pace Mycroft set for his own rhythm. Lestrade felt his body tense for the impending release as he began writhing and groaning involuntarily.

"Fuck…I'm going to…god…now…Mycroft!" Lestrade entire body jerked and shivered as orgasm slammed into him sending warm waves of bright light behind his eyelids and covering his hand in sticky white ropes of come. His body gripped Mycroft tightly and he felt the other man release his own orgasm into him feeling Mycroft grip his hips hard enough to cause bruises as the taller man came apart above him. The man had barely stopped coming before he was pulling out of Lestrade's still shivering body and wiping himself off with some tissue.

"That will be all, Inspector." Mycroft said, his voice slightly rough. "I will request any further information I require via email. Good day."

"Mycroft, wait!" Lestrade said feeling his heart stutter painfully. He sat up and asked hesitantly, "Why don't we grab a cup of coffee or something until they wake up?"

"That won't be necessary." Mycroft sniffed. "I'm much too busy for that type of activity."

"Mycroft, you can't just…" Lestrade began.

"You'll find that I can." Mycroft said firmly before opening the door and shutting it firmly behind him. Lestrade lay back against the desk for a few more minutes pushing away the feelings trying to claw up into his consciousness. He couldn't spend the rest of the night naked and covered in his own ejaculate in an administration office of Bart's. He couldn't even go home, drink himself into a stupor, and attempt to erase this huge mistake from his memory. No, he'd clean up, call Sally, find out about Dr. Watson, and get back to work. Because despite his deplorable and cringe-inducing taste in men, he was a professional and he would at least act like it.

He'd just returned to the waiting room after a long stint in the men's restroom followed by another horrid cup of hospital coffee when he finally saw John's surgeon come out to meet him.

"Are you here for Mr. Watson?" The short woman asked.

"Dr. Watson." He corrected automatically, "Yes, I am. How is he?"

"We were able to repair the damage caused by the shrapnel from the pool stalls, but our main concern right now is the risk of infection." She said. "We'd like to keep him here for at least the next three days to monitor the concussion he sustained as well."

"Can I see him?" He asked hesitantly.

"He's still a bit groggy." She answered. "He sustained a lot of trauma to his lower back and legs so he's on a substantial amount of pain medications. But you can go back if you like."

"Thank you." He said.

He was led back to the room where Dr. Watson was recuperating and wasn't at all surprised to see a bandaged –covered Sherlock perched in the only chair in the room.

"Mr. Holmes." The doctor scolded. "You're supposed to be in your own bed!"

"Dull." The detective said, his voice the barest raspy breath. "Lestrade."

"Holmes." He growled. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't arrest you?"

"I miscalculated." Sherlock sighed stilted. "He wasn't supposed to be there."

"Who? Moriarty?" Lestrade asked confused. "I thought you wanted him to be there."

"Don't be an idiot." Sherlock said angrily.

"You mean John." Lestrade said quietly.

"It seems both of you are gluttons for punishment." Sherlock said coldly. "How is Mycroft by the way?"

"Fuck off." Lestrade bit out.

"You are, quite possibly, the stupidest fuck buddy he's ever had." Sherlock answered.

"And you're quite possibly the worst _friend_ in the history of mankind." Lestrade whispered vehemently. "Honestly, Sherlock. He's the only person I've ever met who puts up with your bullshit, and you decide to use him as a pawn in a game with a psychopath."

"He wasn't supposed to be there." Sherlock repeated. "There was no previous data supporting this outcome."

"And how do those probabilities hold up now?" He quipped. "Do they give you comfort as the poor bloke lies broken in a hospital bed?"

Lestrade and Sherlock squared off almost coming to blows when a weak voice cut through the anger like a knife.

"Oh, please." John Watson whispered. "This is nothing. You should have seen the gunshot wound."

Both men turned to face the doctor's painful, but wry grin. Lestrade watched in an absurd sense of fascination as all of the tension in his consulting detective's body evaporated causing him to collapse back into the chair by the bedside.

"Oh, good." Sherlock said awkwardly. "Right then. Well, right. Okay…John…right."

"It's good to see you too, you giant idiot." John cut in to Sherlock blundering. "Are you alright?"

"Please, John." Sherlock said. "Observe. I'm not the one in a hospital bed."

"That doesn't mean that you shouldn't be." John countered. "Just that you're way too stubborn to follow a doctor's orders."

"It was tedious." Sherlock sniffed.

"Right," John said smiling slightly again. "Well, bugger off for a few minutes. I need a word with Lestrade."

"What could you possibly have to say to Lestrade that I couldn't hear?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Two words: Bomb Jacket." John said firmly fighting against his obvious pain and discomfort. "Give me five minutes."

Lestrade's eyebrows shot up as he watched Sherlock meekly rise and walk slowly to the door before throwing one last fervent glance at the doctor before leaving quietly.

"I need a statement, John." Lestrade said tiredly.

"Right." John said firmly. "We'll get to that when I don't feel like I've been run over by a car. There's something more important we need to talk about."

"And what's that?" Lestrade asked curiously.

"Sherlock's going to leave." John said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Lestrade asked.

"Moriarty said something…before the vest…" John began. "He's not just playing with Sherlock. He's obsessed. Terrifyingly obsessed. And we both know how Sherlock is. He won't be able to resist chasing after the bastard."

"You honestly think that Sherlock would just scamper off to chase after a complete psychopath?" Lestrade asked incredulous.

"You don't?" John said simply, allowing Lestrade to see just how the idea was cutting into the doctor's very heart.

"John…" Lestrade began awkwardly.

"Don't." John said firmly. "I barely know the man. He wouldn't…he won't…I don't matter."

"What does this have to do with me?" Lestrade asked curiously.

"He'll go to his brother." John said confidently. "For funds. Information. I need you to be a part of it."

"How would I possibly do that?" Lestrade asked feeling something unpleasant niggling at his innards.

"Sherlock sort of shared your…history…with Mycroft." John said quietly.

"If he shared the history, then you are aware that I don't matter either." Lestrade said glancing anywhere except at the injured man.

"You matter enough." John said firmly.

"To do what exactly?" Lestrade asked.

"Mycroft and Sherlock only ever see the trees." John said. "I need you to see the forest. Make sure that he's okay. That he…takes care of himself…eats, sleeps."

"You want me to be his babysitter?" Lestrade asked aghast.

"I want you to keep him alive." John answered. "Please, Geoff."

"I don't want to give up my entire life for the fucking Holmes brothers!" Lestrade said angrily. "They already take enough of my life as it is!"

"But I can't." John said painfully. "And I don't trust anyone else to do it."

Lestrade searched the doctor's face and felt his resolve wash away at the look of desolation hiding behind that stern, blank face.

"We're completely fucked, Watson." Lestrade sighed.

"I couldn't agree more." John said with a quirk of his lips.

"Get some sleep." Lestrade said. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you." John said firmly.

Lestrade strode out of the hospital room feeling a weight settle heavily on his shoulders. He turned a corner and almost knocked Sherlock to the ground.

"What did John want?" Sherlock demanded.

"You're one stupid bastard, you know that?" Lestrade answered before striding past the dumb-struck consulting detective.


	2. Chapter 2

It was two weeks later when Sherlock Holmes mysteriously died. John had some complications with infections so he hadn't even been released from the hospital yet. When Lestrade stopped by to give him the news, he watched helpless as two tears leaked from the doctor's rapidly blinking eyes.

"What we talked about?" John rasped. "Will you…?"

"It's all taken care of." Lestrade answered.

"Thank you." The doctor said before curling tightly into himself and shutting out the painful world around him.

Lestrade quickly left the hospital and took a cab to his new office in a nondescript building in a grubby part of London. He'd been promoted to an obscure branch of government last week and had taken a crash course in espionage from Mycroft's nameless PA. He smirked at the memory of Mycroft's sneer when he'd explained what he wanted and he'd almost cheered at the look of astonishment that flashed across the taller man's posh features when he revealed that he was aware of Sherlock's little plan.

"_Doctor Watson." Mycroft said icily after a few seconds of stunned silence. _

"_The one and only." Lestrade challenged._

_The git had sized him up coldly before smiling condescendingly and shrugging his shoulders. "It would be beneficial to have someone with an emotional attachment to my brother involved in this little operation. I'll have Helen arrange it."_

Lestrade shook off the memory and grabbed his secure mobile reading the text that was waiting for him.

_Asset Marple in transit- MH_

_His codename is Marple! GL_

_I thought it was rather fitting-MH_

_Hilarious. GL_

He entered his office to find Mycroft sitting behind his desk with his phone laced between his long, slim fingers.

"Hello, Inspector." Mycroft smirked.

"I have a phone." Lestrade sighed. "I know you know I have a phone. You just texted me. So, call me. On my phone if you have things to discuss."

"One would think that you don't want to see me, Inspector." Mycroft said silkily.

"And one would be right." Lestrade growled. He felt a clench in his gut as he watched hurt, anger, and arrogance flicker across the taller man's posh features. He rolled his eyes in response. It was probably all just some manipulative act anyway. This man seemed incapable of expressing any genuine emotions ever.

"You seem a bit put out." Mycroft drawled. "Might I remind you that you asked me for this little job."

"Yes, I did." Lestrade answered. "But that doesn't mean that I want to spend time with you."

"Your right knee says differently." Mycroft scoffed.

"Well, thank goodness that I don't actually make decisions based on the opinion of my knee." Lestrade answered sharply.

"How was I to know that?" Mycroft smirked. "You often make several decisions with another appendage…"

"You're an arse." Lestrade sighed. "Get out."

"As you wish." Mycroft shrugged. "I left the file on Sherlock's first assignment on your desk. Have a good day, Inspector."

Lestrade felt his entire body shiver with goosebumps as the taller man brushed his hand across his jaw on the way out. This was going to be hell.

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"You can't just antagonize the entire Austrian government and not expect to get thrown in jail!" Lestrade shouted at the rumpled form in the tiny cell.

"Is there a point in your useless ramblings or can I go back to sleep?" Sherlock grumbled.

"There is a point." Lestrade snapped back. "The point is that the government's reach, Mycroft's reach, isn't as far as you think. We can't keep bailing you out of these ridiculous situations if you aren't going to actually show any progress. It's been five months, Sherlock! And you've got nothing!"

"I've got a lead." Sherlock growled. "I'd have more than that if you'd just give me a little room to work."

"Yeah, because Chile was such a brilliant idea, wasn't it?" Lestrade said angrily.

"I miscalculated." Sherlock answered.

"That seems to be your MO lately." Lestrade sneered. "What is going on with you?"

"Nothing." Sherlock answered heatedly. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Sherlock." Lestrade snarled. "Ever since this entire business began you've been reckless, distracted, and antagonistic. Now this was your fucking idea, so what is it! What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." He snapped. "I'm fine. I've been fine. I don't need anyone. I don't need help. I can do this on my own."

"What are you on about?" Lestrade asked confused. "You ARE alone. By your own actions, I might add."

"How is he?" Sherlock said and Lestrade felt something twist in his gut as all the fight left the consulting detective's eyes as he collapsed in on himself.

"Do you honestly think you deserve that information after you were so determined to leave him behind?" Lestrade cut angrily.

"He's my friend." Sherlock said firmly.

Lestrade rubbed his temples roughly taking a deep breath into his chest before releasing it roughly. "He's fine."

"When was the last time you spoke to him?" Sherlock asked.

"Last week." Lestrade answered. "We went for a pint."

"Oh." Sherlock said quietly. "Dating Sarah?"

"You're a complete idiot." Lestrade growled. "You'll be released in the morning. Here's a flash drive from Mycroft. Your flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. Don't run off again."

Lestrade turned to leave the damp prison when Sherlock's voice brought him to a halt, "I'm doing this for the world."

"No, you're not." Lestrade countered. "You're doing this for your own amusement."

Lestrade exited the prison and hurried back to the airport. He had a mountain of paperwork to complete because of Sherlock's recklessness and he wanted to get back to London before as soon as possible.

The flight was long but uneventful. Mycroft at least was considerate enough to fly him business class which made his random jaunts across the globe a bit more bearable. It was close to midnight by the time he let himself into his building and sighed heavily at the woman texting on her cell outside his flat.

"He's inside." She said simply.

"Bloody fucking hell." He growled. "At least make an appointment."

"I sent you an email after your plane landed." She answered.

He rolled his eyes and strode into his flat, dropping his satchel on the sofa and ignoring the umbrella-bearing twit in his kitchen.

"I see you're continuing to ignore me." Mycroft drawled with a smirk.

"I'm not ignoring you." Lestrade said simply heading toward his bedroom. "I send you emails several times a week with updates on Sherlock."

"Being deliberately obtuse, Geoffrey?" Mycroft said lightly.

"Outside of Sherlock, we don't have anything to talk about." Lestrade said firmly undoing his tie and ignoring the tall man slithering into his closet behind him. He jumped when he felt to strong arms wrap around his waist and a sinful pair of lips began nibbling at his neck. Oh, god. He felt his mind unravel at the soft texture of skin on skin.

"You seem tense," Mycroft purred. "Would you like me to assist you?"

"Mycroft…" Lestrade's breath hitched.

"Come now, Geoffrey." Mycroft said beginning to unbutton his shirt slowly. "The physical release will be beneficial for me."

Lestrade felt something shred his insides and he jerked away in a desperate attempt at self-preservation. He fell against the opposite wall and felt his face flush with humiliation.

"I'd rather just have a wank, thanks." Lestrade breathed angrily unable to meet the taller man's gaze.

"Very well then." Mycroft said simply. "I expect a full report of the incident in my inbox by 10am tomorrow morning. I'll show myself out."

Lestrade felt his vision blur but he was able to hold his composure until the door latched. He slid down the wall and clutched at his head pushing away the emotions clawing at his throat. Working in close quarters with Mycroft was like repeatedly shooting himself in the gut with a high-powered staple gun. If it wasn't for John, Lestrade would have bowed out of this circus months ago. Thinking about John brought him back around to some measureable level of sanity. John was doing fine. Of course he was doing fine. He was a survivor, a soldier, a fighter. He picked himself up and began forming some semblance of a life within a week of the funeral, but that didn't change the pain and loss hiding behind those tired eyes. He'd be fine. They both would. At least they had each other.

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"How are things?" John asked hesitantly.

"He's fine, John." Lestrade said knowingly.

"I wasn't asking about him." John said sheepishly. "I was asking about you. How are you doing?"

"I'm…well…I'm fine." Lestrade hedged quietly.

"Mycroft being an arse?" John asked.

"That would imply that there are times when he isn't an arse." Lestrade answered. "He's just being himself."

"If that's Mycroft's normal," John shivered. "Remind me to stock up on ammo for the next time he gets angry."

"Is he still kidnapping you?" Lestrade asked curiously.

"No." John said quietly. "I guess that's a good indicator of my future with the Holmes brothers, huh? The older doesn't kidnap me, so the younger doesn't care about me. He's probably deleted me by now."

"John…" Lestrade began.

"No, sorry." John said hurriedly. "Just been a rough week at A & E. I can't believe it's been an eight months."

"Neither can I." Lestrade sighed.

They bantered back and forth for another hour or so watching the game and sipping on pints. John glanced at his watch and sighed before grabbing his cane to stand.

"Next week? Same time? Same place?" John asked with a wry grin.

"You even have to ask?" Lestrade smiled back. "See you then, mate."

"Bye, Geoff." John said before limping out of the pub and down to his flat.

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"You can't honestly be serious." Lestrade growled angrily.

"It's merely a state dinner, Geoffrey." Mycroft smirked. "It will be beneficial for your new role."

"I don't have a new role." Lestrade said. "I'm working with Sherlock until he figures this shit out and then I am promptly going back to the Yard."

"Of course you are." Mycroft said. "But in the mean time, you have to behave in a way consist with your station."

"I'm not going." Lestrade firmly.

"You are going." Mycroft countered. "I've already sent back your RSVP."

"You can't make me go." Lestrade said.

"But then I might be forced to fill your position with a more suitable candidate." Mycroft shrugged. "And then who would look after our dear Sherlock?"

"You're a horrible person." Lestrade growled.

"It won't be so bad." Mycroft waved his arm dismissively. "There will be good food, informative conversation, and the opportunity to form relationships with some very influential people."

"Why would I want to do that?" Lestrade asked.

"Honestly, Geoffrey." Mycroft sighed. "Must I spell it out for you? Interacting with these people will enable you to form connections that will help ease Sherlock's passage through the continent. Know the right people, and you can accomplish anything."

"Fine." Lestrade deflated visibly. "Give me the address."

"Don't worry about that." Mycroft smiled. "I'll have a car sent round."

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Lestrade was adjusting the bowtie from the sleek black suit that had mysteriously shown up on his doorstep when he heard his doorbell go. He grabbed his keys, phone, and wallet before exiting the flat and following the non-descript driver down to an obscenely nice sedan. He slid in and felt his entire body jerk in surprise at the other occupant.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I forget to mention that I was invited as well?" Mycroft purred. "I thought it would be easier if we just shared a vehicle."

He stayed silent and clung to the opposite door handle in a white-knuckled grip as the car slid smoothly through traffic. He got through the introductions, made small talk deftly with the myriad of people that were "just so happy" to make his acquaintance, and sat through the first five courses of the dinner successfully when Mycroft finally brushed his thigh with his fingertips one too many times.

"I'm off to the loo." He said exiting the room quickly. He leaned against the counter heavily just taking deep breaths. He reached into his pocket and sent an angry text to John before splashing some cold water on his face. Then he promptly shrieked when Mycroft's slim form slid into the room and locked the door behind him.

"You're incredibly entertaining." Mycroft began. "It's satisfying to see you squirm and become flustered from a few subtle touches."

"Did you just bring me here to make me uncomfortable in public?" Lestrade asked flummoxed.

"Of course not." Mycroft smiled. "But I do enjoy multi-tasking."

And that was officially Geoffrey Lestrade's limit. He was sick of being the only one uncomfortable. He was tired of being the only hormone-driven idiot in the room. If he was going to feel hot and a bit bothered than this posh arse was going to experience it as well. He turned and shoved Mycroft roughly against the locked door and felt something warm fill his gut at Mycroft's startled huff of breath. He crashed their lips together brutally shoving his hand roughly over the taller man's groin at the same time. The startled yelp only urged him on and he smirked as he felt the hard bulge in Mycroft's trousers. He deftly undid the buttons and slid his hand between the two fabrics grasping at the genius's cock and working quickly as it grew rigid with arousal. He mercilessly attacked Mycroft's lips and felt heat flood his own body at the involuntary moans coming from his partner. And just before the taller man could find release he stepped back withdrawing all contact and smirked at the desperate whimper from Mycroft.

"Have a lovely evening." Lestrade teased. "I'll find my own way home, thanks."

He lightly shoved the flushed and aroused bloke out of the way before throwing the lock and stepping out into the crowded room. He adjusted his bowtie and quickly exited the building. He would miss the last two courses but at this point he really could care less. He checked his phone and sent a confirmation email to the other mad genius he knew before catching the Tube south. He wouldn't share this story with most people, but he figured John deserved to hear it firsthand. He was just a bit proud of himself.

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"You didn't?" John asked with his signature giggle rippling through the pub.

"I most certainly did." Lestrade said unable to hold in the gloating smile. "He deserved it. The great arse."

"I wish I could have seen his face." John said with a content sigh. "That would have been worth a thousand kidnappings."

"Well," Lestrade sighed. "He'll probably get his own back soon, but it felt so very nice to cause that man an ounce of embarrassment."

"I'm quite proud of you." John smiled.

"I'm pretty chuffed myself." Lestrade laughed.

"Well," John said holding his pint up in a salute. "Here's to fucking the man. Literally."

"Cheers!" Lestrade answered happily.

They chatted for another hour or so before John begged off stating that he had an early shift at the clinic in the morning. Lestrade checked his phone before heading out of the pub and gulped nervously at the text waiting for him.

_Not amusing, Geoffrey. MH_


	3. Chapter 3

"John." Lestrade said quietly. "Come on, mate. We have to get going."

"I don't want to." John whispered.

"John," Lestrade said forcefully. "There's nothing here. There's nobody here. There's no reason to be sitting here in below freezing weather."

"I'm not happy." John said. "It's not fair. Why can't I just be happy?"

"This isn't healthy, mate." Lestrade sighed glancing around the cemetery. "How much have you had to drink?"

"I don't remember." John slurred leaning heavily against the headstone.

"Come on, mate." Lestrade sighed stooping to pick up a drunken John. "Let's find a way to get you home."

They walked unsteadily to the exit of the cemetery and Lestrade huffed as he tried to carry most of John's weight. He frowned at the thought of trying to get the drunk man home. He didn't have his car and the Tube seemed like an awful idea but they were a good three miles from either of their flats and Lestrade had no cash for a taxi. He was resigning himself to finding the nearest Tube station anyway when a sleek black car slide to a stop beside them. The door opened and an umbrella-clad Mycroft exited smoothly to stand beside the two men.

"Not a good time, Mycroft." Lestrade growled.

"I'm merely here to offer a ride to your flat, Geoffrey." Mycroft said awkwardly.

"A ride?" Lestrade asked suspiciously.

"Yes." Mycroft shrugged. "I received intel that John had taken the anniversary of Sherlock's supposed death rather hard. I thought I would at least offer him a ride home."

"I think we can manage." Lestrade huffed readjusting the hold he had on his friend.

"Yes, the three miles home will be a breeze." Mycroft said rolling his eyes.

Lestrade huffed out a breath before heading for the idling car and tucking the doctor in securely before climbing in after him. He shifted uneasily as Mycroft followed suit and sat snug against his side. The ride to Lestrade's flat was awkwardly silent broken only by occasionally snores from John. Mycroft helped Lestrade get the unconscious doctor into the flat and onto the couch. He retreated to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and was startled when Mycroft followed him.

"Thanks for the lift." Lestrade said awkwardly as he waiting for the kettle to go.

"Of course." Mycroft said. "I am upset by how hard this has all been for John."

"So you're acknowledging that what Sherlock's done to John is an arse-worthy move." Lestrade said.

"Of course." Mycroft said firmly. "John has been the best thing to happen to my brother since he got his first chemistry set at ten. And for Sherlock to cast aside someone so wholly devoted to him is just abhorrent to me."

"So you disagree with what he did?" Lestrade asked. "Then why did you go along with it?"

"Because he rarely asks me for anything." Mycroft sighed. "And he would have gone off on his own regardless. With my assistance, he at least stays in contact and stands a better chance of succeeding. But when you have someone that you care about and that cares about you in return, it is the most idiotic thing in the world to let them go."

Mycroft walked slowly toward Lestrade and the detective felt his pulse jump as the taller man leaned into his personal space mere centimeters from their lips meeting.

"Mycroft…" Lestrade said in a strained whisper.

"Please, Geoffrey." Mycroft purred before closing the gap in a heated kiss that left them both panting with need. They fought for dominance as Mycroft tugged at Lestrade's shirt buttons. Lestrade felt his resolve buckle as Mycroft moved to suck sharply on the skin under his ear.

"Shit." Lestrade gasped heavily and tried to formulate some coherent thought. He finally pushed the taller man away just as the last of his shirt buttons separated. "What do you want?"

"I want you." Mycroft growled as he reached for Lestrade's waist.

"Why?" Lestrade gasped.

"Because no one else can have you." Mycroft purred before jerking back in surprise and blushing fiercely.

Lestrade felt his entire world shift oddly at that declaration. He watched in a sort of detatched numbness as Mycroft lurched away from him and leaned heavily against the countertop.

"You weren't supposed to hear that." Mycroft said brokenly. "I have to go."

"My!" Lestrade said grabbing at the taller man lapels and hauling him close. "Tell me what you meant."

"Geoffrey," Mycroft said unable to meet his gaze. "Please, I have to go."

"No." Lestrade said sternly. "Tell me what the hell you meant."

"I can't…" Mycroft's sentence was cut short as Lestrade kissed him fiercely and possessively over and over again until the taller man was shaking with arousal and emotion.

"I want this, My." Lestrade breathed, knowing that he was going to have to be the brave one here. "I want you like this. I don't just want to be an occasional shag…I want us to be more. You just have to decide if that's what you want too."

He searched Mycroft's vulnerable features and stepped back letting the man have some room to formulate a clear thought.

"Just think about it." Lestrade whispered. He watched with an ache in his gut as Mycroft quickly exited the flat without another look back. He dragged himself to his bed after checking in on the still unconscious John. Positive that all the poor man would have is an impressive hangover in the morning, he fell into his sheets and dropped quickly into sleep. He had a flight to Portugal tomorrow and he needed all the sleep he could get.

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"I told you this would work." Sherlock said fiercely as he wiped off the heavy make-up in a dingy mirror.

"Well done, you." Lestrade rolled his eyes as he filled out the paperwork the government officials in Taiwan had stacked in front of him when he'd arrived. "Are you going to help me with these documents or not?"

"Come now, Lestrade." Sherlock said with a smirk. "We all have our strengths. I wouldn't want to deprive you of exhibiting yours."

Lestrade tossed a biscuit at the back of the genius's bleached curls before advancing his carpal tunnel syndrome even more.

"Don't you want to hear about how I did it!" Sherlock said triumphantly. "How I figured out Moriarty's plan with the underground prostitution ring?"

"Fill out the report form and I'll read about it on my plane home." Lestrade shrugged shaking his hand to try to get rid of the cramp.

"John would want hear how I did it." Sherlock sniffed.

"And whose fault is it that he isn't here?" Lestrade cut sharply.

"This was necessary." Sherlock said quietly no longer looking at him.

"That's such a load of shit." Lestrade growled.

"I'm doing this for you idiots." Sherlock growled. "Who else would be able to take down Moriarty's organization?"

"You're doing this for your own bloody ego!" Lestrade shouted losing his temper. "Don't even try to wrap this up as some sort of altruistic sacrifice on your part, you twit."

Sherlock fell silent and slumped against the opposite wall, all sense of mirth drained from him revealing just how bedraggled and exhausted he looked. He smoked cigarette after cigarette in silence as Lestrade worked through the piles of paperwork. Lestrade dropped off the sheets at the front desk and turned to find Sherlock meekly following after him.

"Here's your next flight." Lestrade said handing over a plane ticket and a wad of dollar bills. "You're off to Seattle. It's almost as rainy as London so bundle up."

Lestrade turned away and began flagging a taxi down to get a lift to the airport when he felt Sherlock's hand on his shoulder. He turned to find a somber genius looking nervous and a bit afraid.

"I'll be home soon." Sherlock whispered. "I'll fix it. With John. He'll understand."

"Would you?" Lestrade asked tiredly.

"No." Sherlock said quietly. "But he's a better…he'll understand."

Lestrade turned away from the clueless man and made his way back to the airport. They were 17 months into this assignment and he was so done with all of this.

00000000000000000

"Breakfast?" John asked curiously as Lestrade downed his entire pint and waved to the bartender for another.

"Yeah." Lestrade said with a slight blush.

"Mycroft Holmes invited you to breakfast?" John said quietly.

"I know, right." Lestrade sighed. "Hard to believe."

"It's not that." John said quickly. "You're fantastic, but I thought…well…I just assumed he was like Sherlock or possibly a robot."

"Am I completely mad for agreeing, do you think?" Lestrade asked suddenly nervous.

"Is this what you really want?" John asked. "The chance at a proper relationship with him?"

"Lord help me, but I think it is." Lestrade said quietly. "I'm completely barmy."

"Well good luck mate," John said with a slight grin and a friendly slap on the back. "You're going to need it."

"You're hilarious." Lestrade growled.

"I'm here for you." John said smiling. "When you need someone to talk to."

"Speaking of…" Lestrade said uncertainly. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." John shrugged blandly.

"Seriously." Lestrade said trying to not sound like a mother hen.

"What do you want me to say, Lestrade?" John asked a bit frustrated. "It's fine. It's all fine."

"What do you do in your spare time?" Lestrade pushed. "The only things you ever talk about are work and football. You haven't updated your blog in months. When was the last time you went on a date?"

"Don't." John said darkly before grimacing. "Sorry. I'm just…"

"You're not honestly waiting for him?" Lestrade said a bit harshly. "After what he did? Please tell me you aren't pining away for that arse?"

He jerked as John pushed his chair back roughly and slammed his hands down on the table.

"Waiting for what?" John bit out angrily. "We've already established that I meant absolutely nothing to him. There's nothing to wait for. I'm just not interested in shagging someone right now. Is that seriously some giant crime now? Do me a favor, Lestrade, and keep out of my business."

"John…" Lestrade scrambled. "I didn't mean…"

"No, it's fine." John said throwing some notes on the table. "Enjoy your indoctrination into the Holmes family."

With that, John stormed out of the pub leaving Lestrade feeling like a complete idiot. He settled the tab and went back to his flat. He texted an apology to John before collapsing onto his sheets and practically passing out.

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"I was hoping that this would be acceptable." Mycroft said awkwardly. He'd invited Lestrade to breakfast and he'd chosen a greasy spoon diner a few blocks from Lestrade's flat. "I read somewhere that you eat here rather often."

"You read somewhere?" Lestrade asked with a grin. "Where was that?"

"Just somewhere." Mycroft hedged playing with the edge of his napkin.

"That's not in the least bit creepy." Lestrade answered.

He watched as Mycroft's face fell suddenly and felt something twinge in his chest. "Maybe we shouldn't do this."

"I was kidding." Lestrade said hurriedly. "It was just a joke."

"I don't…" Mycroft huffed frustrated. "This isn't…I don't do this for a reason. It never works out. It won't work out now and there is no reason why we should even continue with this stupid attempt at a relationship."

"My, look at me." Lestrade said firmly. "Do you want this?"

He stared into the defeated features of the man sitting across from him and grabbed his hand with a gentle squeeze.

"Yes." Mycroft breathed staring into Lestrade's eyes.

"Alright then." Lestrade answered with a shy grin. "What are you getting?"

"Probably the egg white omelette with fresh fruit." Mycroft said with a resigned sigh.

"That sounds lovely." Lestrade said. "I'll have that as well."


	4. Chapter 4

John was sitting in his office eating a bland pad thai and was frustrated as all hell because he wasn't even aware that pad thai could be bland when he heard a sharp knock.

"Come in." He said taking a sip of water to clear the taste from his mouth.

"Dr. Watson?" The man said with a slight smile.

"Yes?" John asked. "Can I help you?"

"My name's Mark." He said. "Mark Morstan."

"You're the new doctor." John said waving at a chair. "Have a seat."

"Thank you." Mark said with a grin causing his dimple on his right cheek to show briefly. "I was just introducing myself to everyone in the lunch room and they told me you usually eat lunch in your office."

"Yeah," John said with a slight grimace. "That makes me sound like an asocial prick."

"Hardly." Mark said. "I'm crap at small talk. I never know what to say."

"Well, you're doing admirably so far." John said.

"Thank you, Doctor Watson." He smirked.

"Please, call me John."

"I will."

"Great. Do you like the facility so far?"

"I do. Everyone seems great, but the lunch choices in the machines are wretched."

"They are at that." John grinned. "But I haven't fared much better today. Worst pad thai I've ever eaten."

"We should remedy that." Mark said happily. "How much time do you have left on your break?"

"About forty-five minutes." John answered.

"Alright then." Mark said with a conspiratorially grin. "Let's go. There has to be a good restaurant near here."

"You want to go to lunch?" John asked.

"Of course, John." He answered. "Are you coming? It could be delicious."

John felt a strange feeling seeping through his body but shoved it aside as he grabbed his jacket and followed his new colleague to grab some lunch.

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"You should wear a bloody nametag." Lestrade said tiredly at the woman perched on one of the chairs in front of his desk typing on her blackberry. "I never know what to call you."

"It's Lucy, today." She shrugged.

"What can I do for you, Lucy?" He asked.

"Mr. Holmes just wanted to finalize plans for this evening and he asked that I deliver this as well." She said gesturing to the box perched on the chair next to her.

"Dinner at 8p is fine. What is it?" He asked hesitantly.

"That's really none of my business, sir." She shrugged before getting up and making her way toward the door.

"Thank you." Lestrade called after her.

He opened the box curiously and let out a slight chuckle at the contents. They'd only technically been seeing each other for a few months but it had developed quickly into something comfortable and regular. The fact that Mycroft had gone through the trouble of getting him an overnight bag was a bit flattering actually. He'd been carting clothing back and forth in a bedraggled bag he still had from Uni. He'd tried several times to convince Mycroft that he didn't actually have to buy him gifts, but the look on Mycroft's face when he tried to give them back was heart-wrenching. So, he'd just decided to accept them as gracefully as he could and smirk because inevitably each gift was a subtle commentary on what Mycroft thought he didn't have but very much needed in his life. The nose hair trimmer three weeks in had caused a long discussion and an apology tiramisu. He was just about to power on his computer and get to work when his mobile dinged.

_Help. SH_

Lestrade felt his blood run cold at the simple message. In the almost two years that he'd been working as Sherlock's babysitter, the genius had never once asked for his help. He quickly dialed the appropriate code that would be sent to Mycroft and immediately checked the coordinates of Sherlock's last traceable signal. At least he was still in Scotland. Lestrade grabbed his emergency bag and headed for the exit just as a black car pulled around in front of his building. The drive was tense and he spent the time texting Mycroft and attempting to get a hold of Sherlock. He called John to cancel their pub meeting the next evening and felt guilt twist his insides at the obvious concern in the doctor's voice. He arrived several hours later and was dropped off outside a dingy little shopping center in a shady part of town. Walking quickly through the empty halls, he heard a small moan just under a set of stairs. Running the rest of the way, he dropped next to Sherlock's pale form and did a quick check of his vitals.

"I can't walk." Sherlock whispered painfully. "Broke something, I think. Moran got away."

"Just stay quiet," Lestrade scolded. "Why didn't you call an ambulance?"

"Phone died." Sherlock shrugged. "I was just able to get that text to you before it shut down."

"Idiot." Lestrade said dialing for an ambulance himself. "Don't you keep the thing charged?"

"No time." Sherlock grimaced. "There was just this one chance. Had to take it."

"Alright," Lestrade said. "Just try to relax until the paramedics get here."

It didn't take more than five minutes for the ambulance to show up and Lestrade rode in the back with Sherlock as he was given pain meds. He hadn't actually broken anything but there was quite a gash on the side of his leg that needed cleaning and stitches. They got him cleaned up and put in a small room to recuperate. Sherlock was still pretty doped up when he went back to see him.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Lestrade asked quietly.

"No. Where's John? I need to talk to him." Sherlock said woozily.

"Sherlock…" Lestrade began. "John's not coming."

"Of course he's coming." Sherlock scoffed. "He has to come."

"Why's that?" Lestrade asked hesitantly.

"Because I need him to." Sherlock mumbled.

"He's not your pet, Sherlock." Lestrade sighed heavily. "You can't just expect him to come when you call."

"But he needs to know…I have to tell him…that I…care…" Sherlock whispered fuzzily.

"Tell him what?" Lestrade said feeling his breath hitch. "Tell him what, Sherlock?"

Sherlock then released a faint snore and Lestrade almost ripped his hair out he was so frustrated. He sent Mycroft a quick text regarding the situation and settled down to wait. He didn't imagine that he'd be home for the next week or so.

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"You look not so good, John." Mark said quietly as they ate dinner in Mark's flat.

"Just sleeping poorly." John shrugged as he picked at his pasta.

"Any particular reason?" Mark asked.

"Just worried about something." John shifted uneasily.

"Anything I can help with?" Mark asked.

"Thanks, but no." John said with a half-smile. "It'll be fine, I'm sure."

"Well…"Mark began hesitantly. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do." John sighed. "Sorry, I completely forgot to ask why you wanted to have dinner. You mentioned something at the clinic."

"Right." Mark said clearing his throat. "I, umm, well…I was just thinking…oh, bloody hell."

And with that, Mark grabbed John's shoulders and kissed him deeply. John felt his heart swell with lighthearted warmth as the soft pressure of Mark's lips caressed his own. It was sweet and cautious and simple and caring. His entire body thrummed with satisfaction at the delightful contact and for the first time in years he felt wanted and complete.

"I didn't think you…well, that you'd…" John breathed against the other man's mouth.

"Are you kidding?" Mark grinned. "I've wanted to do this since that first day in your office. You were wearing that jumper and, god, I almost kissed right then and there."

John felt his face blush fiercely before tracing Mark's lips with his thumb and feeling something electric skitter over his skin. They melted together again and John whimpered embarrassingly as Mark pulled away before grabbing his hand and leading him to the bedroom and pushing him lightly onto the bed. They faced each other mere inches apart before Mark closed the gap and kissed him slowly and deeply. They made-out languidly just holding onto each other without pushing it into something more intense. They each disposed of their shirts but everything was sweet and rang of promise and patience. After John flushed with embarrassment after yawning into Mark's most recent kiss, the taller man grinned and kissed his forehead lightly.

"Will you stay?" Mark asked sleepily.

"If you want me to." John said quietly.

Mark half laid onto top of him tucking his head under John's chin and wrapping an arm securely around his waist in response. Mark drifted off to sleep soon after that but John stayed awake letting the events of the past hour or so wash over him. He took in the sight of Mark's slightly tanned features and scruffy brown/gray hair and stubble with a small grin. The man had gorgeous green eyes and was only three inches taller than him. He was thicker in the abdomen than…well…he was stockier but in a healthy way. He was about John's age as well. He was fun and interesting and went rock climbing on holiday. He was steady and safe and maybe that's what John needed. He sighed happily before snuggling down into the pillow and drifting off to sleep.

He jerked awake near dawn as he felt someone playing with the scar tissue on his shoulder.

"Sorry." Mark whispered. "I hope that didn't hurt."

"No. No, it's fine." John said wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"When you said that you got shot…" Mark began. "I didn't realize it would look like this."

"Yeah." John said feeling humiliation color his cheeks. "I know…it's not…well…it's ugly, but it got infected before they could get me home and it caused complications."

"It's not ugly." Mark shrugged but stopped playing with the scar tissue anyway. "I was just curious. Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." John said hoping that they would get off the subject of his gunshot wound.

"You're not…umm…well…you always talk about Lestrade…" Mark began embarrassed.

"God, no." John said with a laugh. "He's just my mate."

"So you're not like secretly in love with him?" Mark asked with a grin.

"Christ, never." John said. "His boyfriend would probably have me killed if I did. Why do you ask?"

"Well…" Mark began. "When I first met you, it seemed like you were pining for someone…I know it's not necessarily the best pillow talk ever, but I just want to know what I'm up against."

"You're not up against anybody." John said firmly feeling his insides wither a bit. "It's just. There was this guy. My flatmate, and I was a bit…well…he was amazing. And he was my best mate but he didn't return the sentiment. At all actually."

"What happened?" Mark asked.

"He died." John said simply. "Worked in a dangerous field and it finally caught up with him."

"I'm sorry." Mark said solemnly.

"It's fine." John said quietly. "It was almost two years ago now."

"But you still miss him." Mark said.

"It doesn't really matter." John sighed. "It was the best time of my life. But things end, ya know?"


	5. Chapter 5

Lestrade prowled around his flat with a sense of foreboding tingling at the nape of his neck. There was definitely something off, something different. He just couldn't quite put his finger on it. He checked the kitchen again before wandering into the small half bath by the front door. He almost had it figured out when the doorbell went. He opened it and smirked at the posh man holding the take away bag.

"Figured it out yet?" Mycroft asked innocently.

"Almost." Lestrade smiled before taking the food and kissing Mycroft firmly on the mouth.

"I'll give you five more minutes and then I win and you owe me." Mycroft grinned back moving into the kitchen.

"What will I owe you?" Lestrade asked silkily.

"Come now, Geoffrey." Mycroft purred. "Where's the fun in that? Hurry up, time's running out."

He quickly looked around the flat again trying his damnedest to figure out what was different. He giggled like mad when Mycroft started doing a countdown at the one minute mark. He dashed around and finally came to a halt in the half bath again before darting back into the kitchen and looking at the sink.

When Mycroft was just starting the 10 second countdown, Lestrade shouted, "The soap! You changed my bloody hand soaps out!"

He felt his entire body flood with warmth at the flushed smile on the taller man's face.

"You are extraordinary." Mycroft said kissing him deeply against the countertop.

"What do I win?" Lestrade breathed when they came up for air several minutes later.

"Dinner first." Mycroft said. "Then I'll show you."

"Bloody hell." Lestrade sighed.

They ate the pad thai in companionable silence while watching some football match on the telly and fighting over the spring rolls. They polished off the meal with some fresh fruit and whipped cream in honor of Mycroft's diet. Lestrade understood how important it was for Mycroft to feel like he had some level of control over his eating habits and Lestrade was more than happy to oblige. That didn't mean that he didn't occasionally get a slice of cheesecake for them to share but they always worked off the extra calories creatively anyway. They curled up together and watched the evening news for a bit before Mycroft shifted to glance at Lestrade at the end of the program.

"So…" Mycroft murmured quietly. "Would you feel comfortable retiring to the bedroom, Geoffrey?"

"It's possible I could be persuaded." Lestrade said with a grin. "What'd you have in mind?"

Mycroft kissed him lightly before pulling him off the couch and leading him to the bedroom. Making quick work of both of their clothing, he drew Lestrade close and kissed him breathless for several minutes causing Lestrade's cock to twitch with want so quickly it made him lightheaded.

Mycroft pulled away to stared deeply into his partner's eyes before turning a bit red and whispering, "I thought you might be interested in being in charge tonight…with my full cooperation."

With that proclamation, he pulled out a pair of leather restraints from behind Lestrade's pillow and glanced at the shorter man unsure.

"Oh, My." Lestrade said feeling so aroused he could barely retain any semblance of control. "Fuck…yes…are you sure?"

"Of course, Geoffrey." Mycroft answered firmly. "I find myself…curious and excited at the thought."

Lestrade sucked at the taller man's neck lightly as he took the restraints.

"Lie down on your back." He whispered and felt his entire body flush with want as Mycroft lay back exposing that graceful form and flushed, erect cock. He straddled the man's hips and kissed each wrist reverently before securing Mycroft's hands to the headboard. He didn't miss the quickening breath and shiver that raced over his partner's soft, slightly freckled skin. He ran his tongue lightly over Mycroft's jaw and neck before sliding down to take a flushed nipple into his mouth to suck and nip at it while rolling its neighbor between his fingers. The gasping arch from the man beneath him sent waves of heat to his cock spurring him to lick and suck a bit more roughly.

"Geoff…Geoffrey…" Mycroft gasped. "Oh…yes…"

He moved lower nipping and licking his way down the light patch of hair below his navel before burrowing into the base of his partner's cock and breathing deeply. Mycroft's knees were shaking slightly as he rubbed them against Lestrade's waist lightly. Intending to savor every moan, gasp, and shiver, Lestrade began licking at the tip of Mycroft's hard, flushed cock slowly taking his time to tear each sound from his partner's throat. He worked Mycroft's cock mercilessly causing his partner to buck and pant as he enveloped his erection in soft wet heat licking and sucking deeply. He rubbed himself off lightly to try to ease the ache in his own groin at the sight of the taller man falling apart beneath him.

"Please." Mycroft panted. "Please, Geoffrey."

"Lube?" Lestrade rumbled still running his lips lightly over the silky skin.

"Under the other pillow." Mycroft whimpered at the loss of friction as Lestrade fetched the bottle.

Lestrade flipped the lid and poured a generous amount on his fingers before straddling his partner again.

"Don't you?..." Mycroft whispered in confusion. "I thought you'd want to…"

"Another time, My, I would love to take you hard and deep." Lestrade said breathing lightly against his partner's panting lips. "But as my reward, there is nothing else I want in this world to have you take me over and over and over again for the rest of my life. I want you inside me."

He watched as Mycroft's eyes widened and his breathing hitched before the taller man lurched against the restraints to kiss him roughly, deeply, and completely.

"Let me watch." Mycroft gasped. "Please."

"Anything for you." Lestrade grinned before turning to present his arse and reaching behind himself to insert one finger deep into his entrance causing a deep moan to escape his parted lips. He worked quickly to open himself up eager to have Mycroft fill him. After enough proper preparation, he shifted around and up before grasping Mycroft's cock firmly causing the man to buck lightly against him.

"Ready?" Lestrade whispered.

"For you? Always." Mycroft gasped and then let out a heated moan as Lestrade lowered himself slowly onto his partner's cock.

Lestrade shifted slowly letting the feel of his partner inside him grow familiar before rolling his hips experimentally. They hadn't had sex in this position yet. Normally, Mycroft took the lead and Lestrade was more than happy to comply but this allowed for a deep penetration that brushed his prostate perfectly with each shift. They were definitely going to do _this_ again. He moved up and down slowly allowing Mycroft's groans and pants to guide him. A coil of electric heat sizzled through his body and he began fucking himself on his partner's cock with abandon at the feel of pleasure radiating out from his arse. Over and over he pushed his partner's cock deep into himself feeling the pleasure sizzle over him carrying them both higher and higher.

"I'm close." Mycroft breathed through flushed lips. "Touch yourself, Geoffrey. Please."

He grasped his own cock and felt his arousal skyrocket as he began pumping in time with his grinding down on his partner's dick. The rhythm stuttered as they both raced toward their orgasms. He felt himself tip over first and moaned his partner's name as his arse spasmed, clamping down on Mycroft's cock causing Mycroft to shout as he came powerfully, hips stuttering and come pouring into Lestrade. They both were breathing so heavily they couldn't even speak as their orgasms wrung every coherent thought from their glowingly satisfied bodies. Lestrade pulled off slowly paying attention to his tender entrance as he shifted forward to release Mycroft's wrists and was taken by surprise as Mycroft pulled him down strongly and kissed him deeply and repeatedly running his hands over Lestrade's chest, back, and neck possessively.

"Geoffrey…" Mycroft murmured tracing his partner's cheekbones delicately and catching his gaze. "I…god…I need you…I can't live without you…I love you, Geoffrey."

Lestrade felt his entire body flood with warmth at this proclamation and his only option in response was to kiss Mycroft lightly on the forehead and murmur, "I love you too, My."

He'd never seen Mycroft smile so wide before. He'd never noticed before that Mycroft had a slight dimple on his left cheek before. And he never wanted to be away from this man again. Christ help him.

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Lestrade glanced at his phone for the tenth time since he'd entered the pub and felt his entire body tense with uncertainty. It was the middle of the night and Sherlock was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. He was just about to call the lazy sod when he saw the tall man's figure easing through the crowded space and waving. The man looked like hell frozen over. He was scowling and fidgeting and as he slid into the chair opposite Lestrade, he seemed to collapse under an unbearable weight.

"Bloody hell." Lestrade cried out. "Did something happen with the insurance fraud case?"

"Tell me." Sherlock practically growled.

"What are you talking about?" Lestrade asked confused.

"You know very well what I'm talking about." Sherlock spat back. "Tell me when John decided to start seeing some GP with a history of long-term monogamous relationships and a very impressive yacht."

"You emailed me to meet you in Belize to discuss John?" Lestrade asked shocked. "I thought this was important! My and I were supposed to spend the weekend in Sussex!"

"This is important!" Sherlock waved away his protest. "Now tell me about Mark Morstan."

"Fuck off." Lestrade said pushing away from the table and turning toward the door. Maybe he could get back in time for at least a Sunday morning lie-in. He was brought to a sudden halt by the vice grip that Sherlock had on his forearm.

"Please." Sherlock choked out. "Please, Lestrade. I have to know."

"How in the hell did you find out?" Lestrade sighed, collapsing back into his chair. "John just told me about him two days ago."

"He also told Harry." Sherlock said angrily. "Who decided to post it as a comment on his blog."

"He hasn't updated that blog in almost five months, Sherlock." Lestrade explained confused.

"I check it regularly." Sherlock said a tad pink around the ears. "Tell me."

"What do you want me to say?" Lestrade asked confused. "He's seeing a bloke at the hospital he works at. End of story."

"How often do they go out?" Sherlock pressed. "Does John stay over at his flat? Do they go to the cinema together? John mentioned going one time. Does he know that John hates green apples?"

"Sherlock…" Lestrade said exasperated. "I don't feel comfortable talking to you about this. It's John's life. If you want to know the details, ask John yourself." 

"I can't very well do that, though, can I?" Sherlock scoffed. "Because John is under the impression that I'm dead. I knew that there was the possibility that he'd…move on…but I didn't let myself think that it would actually happen."

Sherlock stopped blabbering at the guilty look that Lestrade couldn't keep off his face.

"Listen…" Lestrade said trying to ease the consulting detective into this and knowing he would fail spectacularly.

"You told him!" Sherlock shouted. "You told him that I left to chase after Moriarty!"

"No." Lestrade said firmly. "He fucking told me, Sherlock. He told me and subsequently Mycroft that you'd leave. He knew from the moment he woke up in that hospital that you'd bugger off to chase after that lunatic. Who the hell do you think asked me to join this little escapade?"

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked suddenly sounding very small and uncertain. "How could he have known?"

"He never told me the specifics," Lestrade shrugged awkwardly. "All he would say is that Moriarty told him."

"No." Sherlock said trying to negate the past five minutes. "No, Lestrade. No, this can't be happening. This isn't right."

"He wasn't wrong though." Lestrade bit out suddenly feeling angry. "You did choose that sodding psychopath over John."

"Lestrade…" Sherlock said brokenly. "This whole time…John thought that I left him behind, didn't he?"

"You did leave him behind." Lestrade said firmly. "You didn't even bloody care that you were leaving behind your best mate."

"Of course I care!" Sherlock said vehemently. "I didn't do this for my amusement or my ego. I left because Moriarty all but told me that he'd kill John. If I don't find him; if I don't play his stupid fucking games and eventually kill the bastard, he'll go after John. I did this to protect him."

Lestrade felt his anger evaporate at the shattered look on the genius's features. He looked more human than Lestrade had ever seen him and that terrified the detective inspector.

"I've lost him, haven't I?" Sherlock whispered heavily. "Everything that I worked toward, it was all with the knowledge that I was working to get back to him. And now, I'll never have that."

"Sherlock…" Lestrade said quietly.

"I'll finish this." Sherlock said. "I'll finish off that conniving, manipulative bastard. And then…well…it won't matter."

Sherlock pushed himself away from the table and staggered from the pub despite Lestrade's shouts to bring him back. Lestrade caught up with him a block away from the pub and shoved him lightly against the wall to get his attention.

"Listen." He said firmly. "If there is one thing that I have learned over the past two years, it's that you will never lose John Watson. He's so determined to be loyal to you that the past two years have shredded him up badly. You may not have what you once did and you may not have what you want out of your relationship, but John will always be someone that you can come home to, Sherlock. Finish this and then find him and fix it."

"He'll never forgive me." Sherlock said quietly but Lestrade could see a glimmer of hope in his friend's eye.

"He's John." Lestrade said. "You just have to convince him that you both have been complete idiots."


	6. Chapter 6

"Hey." Mark said unsure letting the shorter man into his flat.

"Hi." John asked limping in and sitting down heavily at the kitchen table. "What's wrong? You sounded frazzled on the phone." 

"I just…" Mark stuttered sitting down across from John. "I just need to ask you a few questions and I need you to give me a straight answer."

"Of course." John said feeling something like panic tickle at the back of his consciousness.

"Okay." Mark said throwing back the three fingers of whiskey in front of him. "What exactly are you involved in? I mean, if it's the mob, John, then I don't feel comfortable with this."

"What are you talking about?" John asked confused. "I'm not in the mob."

"Don't lie to me." Mark said quietly. "If you owe them money or something, maybe we can go to the police or you can talk to Lestrade or, oh god, what if Lestrade is in the pocket of the mob?"

"Mark!" John said firmly. "What are you talking about? Lestrade isn't in the mob either. You sound like you've gone round the bend."

"Don't make me out to be the crazy one, John." Mark said angrily. "I'm not the one who has complete strangers abduct them and have creepy umbrella-clad lunatics threaten them with bodily harm."

John stared wide-eyed and mouth collecting bugs for several minutes before he felt a mixture of humiliation and rage well deep in his gut.

"Oh, god." John said dropping his head in his hands. "Oh, god. Mark, I'm so sorry. Shit. I'll talk to him. I promise."

"Talk to who?" Mark asked. "What exactly are you involved in?"

"Nothing. Fuck." John sighed. "It's my flatmate's brother."

"You don't have a flatmate." Mark cut in.

"Sorry." John said feeling a slight ache in his chest. "My former flatmate, Sherlock. It's his brother."

"The man that died two years ago?" Mark asked. "The man that didn't even fancy you? His brother kidnapped me for what? Fun?"

"I don't know." John whispered. "I'll find out. I'm so sorry, Mark. I'll get this settled. Oh my god, that complete arse."

"So you're not some criminal?" Mark asserted.

"No." John said. "Not at all. Just associated with some real gems. What did he want anyway?"

"Nothing." Mark said quickly. "Just crazy."

"Well…I am sorry." John attempting to reassure him. "Did you maybe want to catch a movie or something? My treat?"

"I don't think so." Mark said not meeting his eye line. "I just need to think about this."

"Alright." John said feeling something squeeze his stomach painfully. "Just give me a ring whenever."

"Alright." Mark echoed him shadowing the shorter man to the door and shutting it firmly once John was outside the frame.

John limped resolutely to the nearest Underground hub and stewed angrily as he made the proper connections to land him within spitting distance of Lestrade's door. He rang the bell repeatedly and hobbled quickly up to his friend's flat. Lestrade answered the door with a grin but it withered at the onslaught of John's ire.

"Oh, no." Lestrade sighed. "He did it, didn't he?"

"You knew?" John asked aghast.

"I told him not to!" Lestrade said defensively. "I told him to leave it alone."

"Where is he?" John said frustrated.

"Ah, John." Mycroft said from relative safety behind his boyfriend. "We were just about to have some dinner. Did you want to join us?"

"What the bloody hell are you playing at?" John shouted.

"Could you be a bit more specific?" Mycroft asked nonchalantly.

"Kidnapping Mark, Mycroft." John scowled. "What in the bloody fucking hell did you think you were doing?"

"I simply wanted to ensure that your chosen partner was an appropriate choice." Mycroft shrugged.

"That has never been nor will it ever be your call to make!" John bellowed.

"Well, you should be quite proud of him." Mycroft said finally looking a bit ruffled. "He didn't take the money afterall."

John felt his insides clench violently and nausea hit him like a semi-truck. He noticed the pained expression that Lestrade threw in his boyfriend's direction but was unable to register its significance.

"What do you mean?" John asked quietly.

"I offered him a substantial amount of money to stop seeing you." Mycroft said uncertain. "He seemed quite affronted by the whole idea. So, you're welcome."

John felt ice form in his veins and his resolve solidify into something approaching reinforced steel. 

"Let's get one thing straight." John said quietly. "My life is no longer subject to your interference. It may have been once, but Sherlock made it quite clear that it wasn't necessary. So, fuck off."

John turned and limped as quickly as his shaking limbs could carry him down the hall to the lift.

"John, wait!" Lestrade called jogging after him. "Just wait. We can talk about this. Don't leave."

"Geoff." John said quietly. "I can't do this anymore. I really can't. I have to go. I'll keep in touch."

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Lestrade watched John get into the lift and turn away from him. He sighed heavily and turned back toward his flat feeling his own anger spike. He entered the room and rounded on his partner with a look so sharp it could crack granite.

"I told you." Lestrade bit out. "I told you not to. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking about what was best for Sherlock." Mycroft said firmly. "You told me what he said two months ago. I had to ensure that nothing would stand in their way when he finally came home."

"And you accomplish this by attempting to ruin one of the only good things to happen to John since your stupid fucking sibling ran away?"Lestrade asked rubbing at his quickly developing migraine.

"Frankly, after the loyalty Mark Morstan displayed, I'm not a bit glad that I went through with it." Mycroft huffed.

"My," Lestrade said trying to control his volume. "What are you talking about?"

"I expected him to take the money." Mycroft said primly. "That would have decreased the number of complications for when Sherlock returns."

"You probably scared the poor bloke away!" Lestrade said angrily. "You have to fix this."

"Fix what?" Mycroft asked. "There's nothing wrong. If John is no longer dating Mark, then everything will work itself out."

"Yeah, that's it." Lestrade bit out. "You're definitely on your own tonight."

"Pardon?" Mycroft asked confused.

"You heard me." Lestrade said. "You can either kip on the sofa or go home but you are not getting anything even remotely resembling pleasure from me."

"You're not serious." Mycroft asked aghast.

"Deduce whether I'm kidding or not." Lestrade said quickly before retreating to the kitchen to check on the rice.

"I'll contact Mr. Morstan." Mycroft said quietly, standing in the door frame watching Lestrade move about the kitchen. "Surely I can explain the situation and he'll continue to see John."

"Sorry." Lestrade said. "That ship has already sailed. Think of something else."

"I could facilitate an encounter of another possible candidate for John." Mycroft persevered. "Someone who wouldn't mind stepping out of the way when Sherlock returns."

"Keep trying." Lestrade said unhelpfully.

"I could…I could…" Mycroft began. "It would be bad to keep him in a chemically induced coma until Sherlock returns, right?"

Lestrade practically slammed a piece of paper and a pen down in front of his barmy partner and smirked, "You use that magnificent brain every day to settle petty disputes and squabbles between dignitaries. Why don't you put it to work on a nobler task?"

"And what task would that be?" Mycroft asked eyeing the paper like it might bite.

"Apologize, Mycroft." Lestrade said plating up their food and heading toward the couch. "I'll be in here when you're done."

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John walked up to Mark's door feeling a mixture of guilt and anxiety. He rang the door and shuffled anxiously back and forth waiting for him to open the door. He felt his heart deflate at the clearly pissed off look on Mark's normally happy features but persevered anyway.

"Hey." John said tentatively.

"John…" Mark began.

"Listen," John cut in. "I talked to Mycroft. He won't…bother…you again. I promise. He just gets overprotective of Sherlock sometimes."

"Sherlock's dead." Mark said firmly. "Why do I have to hear so much about a dead guy who broke your heart over two years ago?"

"I know." John said. "I know…he just…he's Mycroft…"

"John." Mark rolled his eyes. "I'm not just talking about Mycroft. I'm talking about when we spend time with Lestrade or your sister or your other friends at the Met. I just don't feel like I have a place in your life when so much of you is wrapped up in a dead guy's memory."

"I know." John sighed. "I know and I'm sorry."

"How can I compete with that?" Mark asked clearly upset.

"You don't have to." John said hurriedly. "There's nothing to compete against. I'll do better, I promise. Just you and me."

John closed the gap between them and used his free hand to cup Mark's face gently. He moved slowly so Mark had time to back off before kissing him lightly, just a soft press of lips.

"I'm sorry." Mark said pulling away. "I'm so sorry, but I can't. Another time, another fucking circumstance and it might be different."

"Mark…" John pleaded.

"I know you're hurting." Mark said unable to meet John's gaze. "But I can't be someone's replacement. I won't."

John stumbled back against the opposite wall as Mark shut the door firmly. He took a few steadying breaths before hobbling out of the building and to his own flat. Taking the elevator up to his small studio, he sat down heavily on his small sofa and resigned himself to another night of a lone takeaway order and crap telly.

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"Come again." Mycroft growled loudly.

"It's like I said, sir." Patricia said firmly. "We can't seem to find DI Lestrade."

"Then I suggest you find him." Mycroft said coldly.

"Yes, sir." Patricia said, her face flushing deeply. "He was quite inventive. I've never seen someone lose your security detail that well excepting your brother, of course."

"Yes, thank you." He said darkly. "I am aware that I am not dating a complete imbecile."

"I'll just go then." She answered quietly.

Mycroft felt his heart thump roughly against his rib cage as his assistant practically ran out of his office. His thoughts were disjointed and harried as he tried to fathom what Geoffrey's disappearance meant. They hadn't had a fight recently. It seemed unlikely that he was trying to achieve some illegal objective and even if he was, Mycroft wouldn't have cared all that much. The only options that presented themselves were that he was kidnapped, having an affair, or trying to break-up with him. It had been 2 hours since the security detail had failed spectacularly (they were all being reassigned as parking attendants) and he'd received no ransom note so kidnapping seemed the least likely of the three options. This fact caused his heart to ache wildly. He KNEW that being in a relationship with Geoffrey Lestrade was a terrible idea. He KNEW that the Inspector would eventually grow uninterested and stray to someone much more worthy of his attentions. This had always happened with his previous partners but it was fine then. He wasn't emotionally invested in those relationships either. Now he felt his entire body clench with icy tension at the thought of someone else kissing his Geoffrey. He couldn't focus, couldn't even seem to gather his fraying thoughts into any sort of order. He quickly left his office and returned to his flat. He couldn't deal with this today. He just needed some time alone. Some time to think. He walked quickly to his room and felt his breath hitch when he noticed Geoffrey's trainers tucked under his bed.

Tearing off his suit, he wrapped himself up in the sheets that held his partner's scent. He fought hard to stem the tide of misery that was assaulting his mind. He must have laid there for hours ignoring the many texts and messages that he received. He barely stirred when he heard his front door open and then close quietly. He recognized Geoffrey's tread on the hard wood floors and felt his heart lurch painfully.

"My." Lestrade called quietly. "Are you here? You weren't at your office."

He didn't respond, couldn't respond with the lump in his trachea. He'd stopped by his office to break-up with him obviously. Keep it professional. He probably would even ask to stay on as Sherlock's contact out of some misguided sense of duty. He burrowed further into the sheets as the footsteps neared the bedroom.

"Fuck, Mycroft." Lestrade said, sounding worried. "Are you alright?"

Lestrade ran to his side and dug under the covers to get a good look at him and the concern on his partner's face nearly tore Mycroft up inside.

"Talk to me." Lestrade said quietly feeling his forehead to check his temperature. "Are you feeling nauseous? Headache? Do you have pain anywhere?"

"I"m fine, Geoffrey." Mycroft said roughly. "I don't require your assistance."

"Bollocks." Lestrade said with a faint grin. "Let me take care of you. Just tell me what's wrong."

"What are you doing here?" Mycroft said coldly. "Surely this all could have been communicated via email."

"What are you on about?" Lestrade said with a single frown lie forming between his eyes.

"Why don't you tell me about why you were at my office today?" Mycroft bit out.

"I was looking for you." Lestrade answered. "What's wrong?"

"Fine." Mycroft said feeling something acidic clawing up his throat. "Then tell me about you ditching your security detail. Something to hide, Inspector?"

He felt a bitter sense of success when he saw a light flicker on in Geoffrey's gaze. Here it was. Geoffrey would tell him that he was no longer interested in seeing him and that he'd found someone else.

"My." Lestrade whispered stroking his cheek softly. "What do you think I was doing this afternoon?"

"You're honestly going to make me say it outloud?" Mycroft said, his voice breaking painfully.

"Shit." Lestrade said. "My, I am so sorry. Oh my god, I never thought..."

"It's fine." Mycroft said painfully. "I can't say that I saw this coming but it isn't entirely unexpected."

"Mycroft." He said warmly. "What day is today?"

"Honestly, Inspector." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I am aware that it is the 12th of August. I am hardly going to go completely insensible at your loss."

"That's unfortunate." Lestrade said with a grin. "Because I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't ever recover from losing you."

"Humor, really?" Mycroft said coldly.

"Mycroft." Lestrade said gripping his shoulders firmly. "Today is August 12th. Exactly a year ago today we had our first date. It's our anniversary. I asked Sherlock for some tips on evading my lovely security detail so that I could go out and get you a gift without you knowing what it was before I gave it to you."

"I don't..." Mycroft said feeling a strange lightness overwhelm him.

"I'm so sorry." Lestrade said kissing him lightly on the forehead. "I never thought that you'd think anything so horrible. I just wanted to surprise you."

"So, you're not..." Mycroft swallowed heavily.

"Never." Lestrade said firmly placing another kiss on the tip of his nose.

"I feel rather silly now." Mycroft said after several seconds of contemplation.

"I know just what will make you feel better." Lestrade smiled. "I hope you like it."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a simply wrapped gift about the size of Mycroft's palm. Mycroft took it gingerly and unwrapped it to reveal a midnight blue, velvet jewelry case. He opened it and felt his entire body swell with warmth. Inside was a set of cufflinks in the shape of umbrellas. On one of the cufflinks, along the handle was the date in roman numerals of a year earlier and on the other cufflink, was a set of coordinates.

"It's the exact coordinates of the cafe." Lestrade said with a pink tinge to his features. "If you don't like them, I can get you something else."

Mycroft lurched forward and pulled Geoffrey into a deep kiss infusing it with all the love and appreciation he could summon. Dragging the good detective onto the bed, Mycroft spent the next ten minutes showing Geoffrey just how much he loved his gift. With a final nibble to his partner's kiss-bruised bottom lip, Mycroft pulled away to stare into the dark eyes of the man he loved.

"Move in with me." Mycroft said suddenly.

"It's okay if you didn't get me anything, My." Lestrade grinned.

"No." He persisted. "I'm serious, Geoffrey. Move in with me."

"Really?" Lestrade asked and Mycroft could see the hopeful gleam in the shorter man's gaze.

"Of course." Mycroft urged. "My place is closer to your office. You spend most weekends here anyway. And I want to be able to come home to you in the evenings. And I want you to come home to me."

"Okay." Lestrade whispered before kissing him lightly again. "Let's do it."


	7. Chapter 7

"Sherlock." Lestrade sighed. "I don't know if this is the best idea."

"Thank goodness I didn't ask your opinion." Sherlock huffed angrily.

"I still think that this should be done in person." Lestrade said firmly. "You shouldn't just write him a letter and expect everything to be better by the time you get back."

"Just give this to him." Sherlock said shoving the letter at him roughly. "And DON'T read it."

"I'm not five." Lestrade huffed. "I don't want to read your love note."

"Keep it away from my brother too." Sherlock said.

"I promise." Lestrade said crossing his heart. "From my hands to his."

"Right." Sherlock said now looking incredibly uncomfortable.

"Do you have any idea where you're off to next?" Lestrade asked.

"Switzerland." Sherlock answered. "It's the most logical place to go."

"Right." Lestrade said. "I'll get transportation set up for you and expect a confirmation email as well."

"Of course." Sherlock said.

"And," Lestrade said before striding out of the "Be careful."

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"I don't want this." John said attempting to hand the envelope back.

"Nope, sorry." Lestrade said moving away. "I've already played too big a role in this whole thing. I am officially bowing out."

"Geoff..." John tried again.

"Listen." Lestrade sighed. "Just read the damn letter. I'll be at the pub later if you want to stop by. I was going to watch the match."

John glared at his friend as he beat a hasty retreat out of his little studio apartment. He turned his attention to the slim envelope with his name written on it with Sherlock's signature spidery script. Sighing heavily and feeling his stomach roil with uncertainty, he broke the seal and pulled out a piece of paper covered in familiar writing.

_Dear John-_

_I believe that it is rather obvious as to why I am writing you this letter so I will not insult your intelligence by attempting to justify my reasons._

_First and foremost I want to apologize for any pain that my supposed death has caused you. I hadn't thought it possible that it would affect you overmuch but Lestrade has expressed that maybe my deception has caused you discomfort. So, I am sorry. My reasons for the deception aside, I was under the assumption that my absence wouldn't be more than a blip on your emotional radar. I guess I should have deferred this thought to you, John. The problem is that I am not a well-rounded person. I am a genius of a very small percentage of the knowledge in the world. You, on the other hand, seem to understand so much more about the people in the world. While it is not integral knowledge for my work, it is imperative information for the happiness of those around me. The happiness of you, John. It is possible that I didn't grasp the full effects that our parting might have had on you. I know that it affected me deeply, but I never thought that it would wound you as much. You seem so much more capable than me to form connections with others that I was under the impression that I was just a passing acquaintance. Lestrade has disabused me of this assumption. _

_I must also try to explain my reasoning for the deception. It seems we were each trying to function using blinders that left us without a comprehensive view of the entire situation. I only knew that Moriarty had taken you and hurt you. That he had taunted me into playing a game with him that has taken me all over the world. I cannot lie to you and say that I wasn't intrigued and excited at the prospect of dismantling such a convoluted and meticulously designed organization. It was the game, John, and I couldn't resist. But driving me then and more than anything driving me now is that he threatened you. I have since tired of this fight with Moriarty and the only reason I am still away is the fact that if I were to return, you would be a target. Having you in the hands of that madman once was more than enough evidence for me to come to the conclusion that you being in danger because of me is intolerable. I even know what you will say when you read that. I know that it is your choice when you put yourself in danger. I know that I don't have the right to lock you away to keep you safe. You are more than capable of taking care of yourself. I needed you safe for my own well-being and I was selfish enough to act on that fear._

_You were provided with an entirely different view of the situation. You were informed that I would leave you behind. That I wouldn't require your company for this case. You were functioning under the assumption that I didn't even have the decency to inform you of my faked death. That I didn't even care enough to say goodbye. The truth, my dear Watson, is that I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to look you in the eye and say goodbye. This can be attributed to cowardice. I thought it would be easier to just slip away quietly. But you know me too well, John. You even cared enough to set Lestrade on me. Did you know that one evening in Morocco he dosed me with a sedative to get me to sleep? He really is intolerable. Thank you. _

_The final thing I want to extrapolate on is how wrong you are. It is a familiar feeling for you so it probably won't be too overwhelming. But you do mean a great deal to me. It is harder to describe than I had anticipated but the truth is still so apparent to me that the idea of you not knowing is baffling. And the hardest thing is that I can't explain it. I can't put it in words. So, please, when I get back, let me show you. Give me a chance to prove to you how much your friendship matters. Don't write me off yet, Dr. Watson._

_Yours,_

_Sherlock Holmes._

John read the letter three times before folding it neatly and placing it under his pillow. He felt numb as he pulled out a loose sheet of paper and scrawled a reply. He'd get it to Geoff tonight.

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"Here." Lestrade said, rolling his eyes.

Sherlock grabbed the envelope and held to his chest tightly glaring at Lestrade until he made a hasty retreat. He tore it open quickly and felt his entire body fill with warmth at the succinct reply:

_You're an idiot. Stay safe._

_Yours, _

_John_

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"How many CDs do you have, Geoffrey?" Mycroft asked stunned as Lestrade drops a third medium sized box on the carpet next to the entertainment system.

"Too much?" Lestrade blushes.

"I just don't remember seeing them all at your place." Mycroft shrugged.

"Well," Lestrade answered. "I didn't have the space for them so they spent time in one of my closets. We don't have to display them all. I'll just go through and pick out an assortment."

"Or we could always just get a stand for them all." Mycroft chided.

"You don't mind?" Lestrade asked.

"Of course not." Mycroft said kissing him happily on the nose.

"Trip to Ikea then?" Lestrade said.

"Hardly." Mycroft sniffed. "Ikea isn't actually the motif that I was going for."

"Snob." Lestrade said playfully.

"Vagabond." Mycroft huffed back.

"Seems we'll have to settle this the old fashioned way, Mr. Holmes." Lestrade said herding his partner back toward the couch.

"What do you suggest, Mr. Lestrade." Mycroft smirked.

"A test of wills." Lestrade said pushing Mycroft lightly down onto the cushions.

"Parameters?" Mycroft asked pulling Lestrade down to straddle his thighs.

"First one to come loses." Lestrade purred in Mycroft's ear.

"You're on." Mycroft said nibbling on Lestrade's collarbone.

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"It's been awhile, darling." Moriarty smirked. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

"No snipers this time around?" Sherlock asked. "You seem to be losing your touch."

"But they're not really necessary now, are they?" Moriarty said with that snakelike lilt.

"I'm afraid you're overestimating your importance." Sherlock said primly.

"Giving in to those sociopathic tendencies you're so very proud of?" Moriarty asked smugly against the roar of the falls.

Sherlock felt a cold, detached calm seep into his skin as he pointed John's gun unwaveringly at the madman's chest. Two and a half years of fighting and running and sacrificing to get to this point. To finally put an end to this fight. His greatest accomplishment as a consulting detective, his most prestigious case, a true testament to his brilliance, and he was alone. He was no longer elated by this chase. No longer excited by the prospect of this game with Moriarty. He was tired and bitter. He was sick of being tugged and pushed across the globe at the whim of this waste of oxygen. He was so close to dismantling every facet of Moriarty's vast network. Once he cut off the head, it would be over. And then he could go home, he could fix this.

"Hardly." Sherlock quipped. "Just taking care of the refuse."

"Speaking of waste," Moriarty said with a sharp grin. "How is dear Johnny? It's been a while since I've checked in with the dear doctor."

"Shut up." Sherlock growled.

"Now, Sherlock." Moriarty tutted. "You hardly get to play the role of protective boyfriend, do you? I mean, abandoning him in London? That seems cruel even to me."

"I am curious." Sherlock said trying to stuff away the distracting emotions clawing at his throat. "What exactly did you say to him that night?"

He felt something sickening slide over his skin at the chuckle emanating from the criminal.

"Oh, that." Moriarty said as if recalling a fond childhood memory. "I just told him the truth."

"The truth about what?" Sherlock asked.

"About you." Moriarty grinned. "I knew that you'd come after me, of course. That was obvious. I simply informed him of the fact that a broken, useless Army doctor would never factor into the ingenious plans of our dear Sherlock. You played your role beautifully too. Faking your death? That was gorgeous. You didn't even have the decency to say goodbye either. It was so entertaining. I have the look on the doctor's face from when that inspector informed him of your death as my screensaver."

"Of course I left." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You threatened his life."

"Oh, please." Moriarty rolled his eyes. "I threatened to burn out your heart. You were the one who placed that weight on the shoulders of an idiot with PTSD and a psychosomatic limp. But enough about him. Let's talk about us."

"There is no 'us'." Sherlock said firmly.

"Of course there's an 'us'." Moriarty laughed. "What do you think the past couple of years have been about? The truth is that you need me."

"Hardly." Sherlock bit out.

"Oh really?" Moriarty purred, striding confidently into Sherlock's personal space. "We both know that you wanted to play this little game. I mean, if it was really about protecting John, you would have sent your brother's minions. No, this is what you _wanted_. What you _needed_. That's why you're not going to kill me. Because you won't go back to that pathetic existence of yours. I mean, really? Begging cases from the Yard like a stray begging for scraps? You're so much better than that, my dear."

"Oh, you're not serious." Sherlock scoffed.

"Very." Moriarty challenged. "I promise you won't be bored."

"I'm afraid you can't promise that, Jim." Sherlock smirked.

"And why not?" Moriarty asked.

"Because I've been bored of this little game of yours for years." Sherlock said firmly. "Lestrade, I'm done here."

With those words, twenty well-trained agents of the British government descended upon the psychopath forcing him none to gently to the rocky cliff ground. Sherlock watched with a tired sort of relief as the madman struggled and shrieked and cursed.

"NO! NO! Sherlock! NO!" Moriarty shouted. "This isn't how it goes! NO! This isn't the plan!"

"Sorry, Jim." Sherlock said loudly. "I'm afraid I have something much more interesting waiting for me in London."

A dark gleaming viciousness flashed across Moriarty's eyes as his face twisted into a crazed grimace. "Not if Moran gets there first."


	8. Chapter 8

Fuck, John was tired. He'd spent the better part of the past two weeks working extra hours at the clinic as well as helping Harry repaint her house. His entire body ached and his stupid leg was sending shooting pains up along his spine. He just wanted a long bath and an early night in. He exited the Underground and rounded the corner onto his street and felt a familiar shivery tingle run over his skin. Bloody hell. He walked sedately toward his flat stopping once or twice to adjust a shoe lace and check his phone. Entering the building, he made a show of fiddling with his keys before heading up to his flat. He opened his door and let it close firmly before ducking around the corner and listening to the even tread in the hall. He grimaced as he heard someone fiddle with his door handle. As soon as he heard his lock click over, he rounded the corner and rammed the end of his cane hard into the assailant's kidneys. The taller man dragged him into the flat throwing him roughly into the wall before pulling his fist back. John dropped to the floor and slammed the cane hard into the man's leg and fought a smile at the crack of bone. They grappled on the floor and the man got in a lucky punch to his eye before one final smack to the temple had the man collapsed, unconscious on top of him.

He quickly wriggled out from beneath the girth of the man before running to the closet to hogtie the bastard with an extension cord. He was putting the finishing touches on the knot when he heard a stampede hurtling down his hallway. He was greeted by five SWAT guys kitted out to the teeth with rifles and a slightly nonplussed Mycroft Holmes.

"Evening." John said evenly.

"Oh. Good." Mycroft said, adjusting his tie nervously. "Men, take him away."

John watched dispassionately as the agents took the other man away with little to no regard for his cracked bone. The men were quickly exiting the flat when a set of paramedics came in and began fussing about his quickly bruising eye and busted lip. There were flashlights shone quickly in each eye and his blood pressure and pulse were checked before two ice packs were plastered to his face with a stern look from the elder woman and a command to keep those on for the next twenty minutes. He collapsed on his tiny couch before turning to the government official and asking finally,

"So who exactly did I just have a row with in the middle of the night?"

"That was Sebastian Moran." Mycroft said blandly. "Moriarty's number two."

"Oh." John said quietly. "Not a very good number two, was he?"

"That isn't what people normally say." Mycroft said with a wry grin.

"What do people normally say?" John asked.

"They don't." Mycroft said. "They're often dead."

"Well, now that that's been handled." John sighed. "I think I'm off to bed. You can show yourself out, can't you?"

"Sorry, John." Mycroft said. "We'll just need a quick statement and a look at the security camera."

"Security camera?" John asked. "What camera?"

Mycroft just smirked before the third round of strangers streamed into his flat taking pictures and reaching into lamps and under tables to pull out little bugs and cameras. He was giving a statement to a nondescript Yarder when he heard two people rush down the hall and screech to a halt in his doorway. He felt his heart falter and restart as a mad genius scanned the room before his eyes stopped on John. The doctor rose quickly to his feet unsure as to why his body immediately attempted to fall into a defensive stance as the detective strode up to him and froze him with a heated stare.

"Why aren't you at Baker Street?" Sherlock asked abruptly.

"Hi, Sherlock." John said with a grin. "Welcome to London."

John wasn't an idiot. He was very aware of everyone else quickly exiting his studio flat and saw Lestrade literally drag his partner out the door before shutting it firmly.

"Why?" Sherlock asked a bit ruffled.

"It wasn't my flat." John shrugged. "It was yours."

"It was ours." Sherlock huffed. "If it was about the money, Mycroft would have been more than happy to cover my share of the rent."

"It wasn't the money." John sighed moving to the kitchen to turn the kettle on.

"Then what?" Sherlock asked confused.

"It's nothing." John hedged.

"Tell me." Sherlock demanded attempting to corner him against the cabinets.

"I didn't belong there." John said quietly, unable to meet Sherlock's gaze. He grappled around in the silence that followed his statement trying to find the proper words. "You didn't need me, Sherlock. And that's fine, but with you not at Baker Street, there was no reason for me to stay. You'd obviously decided that you'd rather go it alone and that I wasn't necessary, so I didn't think you'd want me to be there when you got back."

"Why would you think that?" Sherlock asked.

"Why would I not?" John said, feeling bitterness settle in his gut. "What evidence did I have to refute that theory? You buggered off without so much as a goodbye."

"The letter…" Sherlock began.

"Yes, a letter that you sent two and a half years after you left." John countered. "I've lived in this flat for that same amount of time. The letter was good. It was informative. Thanks, but that doesn't change the fact that you never had enough respect for me to let me make my own choices."

"I explained…" Sherlock tried again.

"That you assumed that I would be just so chuffed at the idea of you deigning to associate with me that I would wait for YEARS for some return that couldn't ever be guaranteed because you thought I was under the impression that you'd died. The bastard was right after all. You did see me like some pet, didn't you? You could just hand me off to some nice couple so that you could scamper off on your ideal vacation and expect me to still be your property when you got back."

"That wasn't it at all." Sherlock said finally getting just as angry as John.

"Then what was it exactly?" John bit out.

"It nearly killed me!" Sherlock shouted. "You were wearing a bomb for fuck's sake! And it was my fault. I panicked. I ran and left you behind, not because I didn't need you, but because the idea of you dead made me so sick I could barely stop dry heaving at the hospital. Every one of those scars is my fault and I didn't want you to hate me because of it."

"Sherlock…" John ventured as the silence stretched between them as the taller man stepped forward practically looming over the doctor and trapping him against the wall.

"John, please…" Sherlock said dropping his head onto the doctor's shoulder. "Please don't send me away."

"It's late." John said feeling his emotions get torn to shreds. "And I'm completely knackered. Let's just get some sleep. We'll talk about this in the morning."

The hitched sigh from the detective nearly shattered John's heart and he barely had enough room to get changed into pajamas bottoms with Sherlock hovering over him.

"You can sleep on the bed if you want." John said awkwardly. "I'll take the couch."

Sherlock didn't reply but quickly stripped down to his pants and pulled John down onto the bed with him wrapping him up in his arms and blankets. He nuzzled into John's neck and his breath tickled John's throat as he pulled him closer. John let the warmth and closeness steal the rest of the tension from his limbs and he dropped into sleep quickly with a hazy memory of lips kissing his pulse point lightly.

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"You're hiding?" Lestrade asked aghast.

"Not exactly." John huffed. "I really did have to work this morning and then Donovan invited me out to celebrate you coming back to Scotland Yard."

"How the bloody hell did she know?" Lestrade asked. "This whole thing just ended yesterday."

"Mycroft sent out an e-vite." John said.

"That man." Lestrade said, unable to keep back the grin on his face. "So you left Sherlock in your apartment."

"Well, he was still sleeping." John sighed. "I left a note. I'm surprised he didn't wake up with how long it took me to wriggle out of his grip."

Lestrade spat beer across the pub and coughed roughly. "You slept with Sherlock!"

"No," John said firmly. "I mean, we didn't _sleep_ together. We just sort of slept in the same bed."

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask." Lestrade sighed. "What were you two three years ago? I mean, was sleeping in the same bed normal?"

"It…happened before…" John said awkwardly. "I mean…sometimes when we were too knackered to give a fuck or we didn't want to pay for separate rooms and ended up in a single bed hotel room. It wasn't precisely an everyday occurrence but it did happen fairly regularly. Plus, he would sort of stick around if he had to wake me up from a nightmare."

"Oh, John." Lestrade sighed.

"I know." He answered dejected. "I am completely screwed."

"Do you know what I think?" Lestrade said.

"Please feel free to comment on my completely ridiculous life." John said resting his forehead on the table.

"I think that you two are far greater together than apart." Lestrade said. "And that doesn't mean I think you're dependent on one another, just that you two complement each other."

"And I should just forget the past three years then?" John asked. "You're the one who told me to move on."

"No, don't forget them." Lestrade said. "Let them make you stronger. Both of you love a challenge, let that adversity make you stronger."

Lestrade smiled as John pulled out his mobile and sent a quick text before his ears flushed a deep red and finishing off his pint. The return ping made the blush spread to his whole face and he saluted his friend before heading out of the pub. Lestrade glanced around the pub as his Yarders streamed into the pub to congratulate him on his return. They spent hours laughing and drinking and bullshitting with each other and Lestrade had never felt surer of his chosen career than right now. Despite the hours and the fatigue and the emotional toll, he couldn't imagine a more perfect job. It was hours later and he was settling the tab and feeling a bit low that Mycroft hadn't stopped in when he saw a familiar black car parked in front of the pub. He grinned and waved goodbye to the few stragglers before wrapping his coat around himself and darting out to slide onto the cool leather seats.

"Hello, My." Lestrade said with a grin before kissing him lightly on the lips.

"Geoffrey." Mycroft said, resting his hand lightly on Lestrade's knee as the car pulled away.

"Where are we off to?" Lestrade asked. "Ikea?"

"Best two out of three." Mycroft huffed. "I'm sure I'll win next time."

"You can try, but come on." Lestrade smiled. "I'm irresistible."

"Of that I am definitely aware." Mycroft smirked. "I thought I'd give you a lift home considering you have work tomorrow."

"I don't start back at the Yard until next Thursday." Lestrade said confused.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Mycroft said happily. "I meant that we have work tomorrow and into the extended weekend as well. It turns out that I also miraculously have six days off. How very convenient."

"Really?" Lestrade said unable to keep the grin off his face. "And what sort of work did you have in mind?"

"I'm sure we'll find something productive to do." Mycroft smiled.

"Indeed." Lestrade said silkily.

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	9. Chapter 9

John limped quickly up to his flat and opened the door with a shy grin as he laid eyes on the lanky detective pouring two cups of tea. John felt his heart skip a beat as he noticed that Sherlock was wearing his t-shirt and a pair of his shorts.

"I…uh…" Sherlock flushed. "I thought you might like some."

"Yeah." John said hanging up his jacket and walking into the kitchen. "Thanks."

"I hope you don't mind." Sherlock gestured to his outfit. "I took a shower and wanted fresh clothing."

"It's fine." John said clearing his throat.

They both leaned against the countertop cradling their mugs and subtly _not_ glancing at each other every few seconds.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock said quietly.

"I'm sorry, too." John said drinking the last of his tea and setting the mug down behind him.

"So what now?" Sherlock asked turning to face the doctor.

"I don't know." John sighed. He reached over and grabbed Sherlock's wrist lightly. "But I'm glad you're home."

John let Sherlock pull him close so that there was only a few inches separated them. John could smell his shampoo and body wash all over the genius and could barely contain his hormones. It was like having Sherlock all wrapped up in him and it was hot as fuck. He was practically vibrating with his arousal. This was all he wanted, everything he'd been dreaming since he'd met this crazy bastard all those years ago.

"Sherlock…" John said brokenly. "Don't…"

"Please." Sherlock said resting his lips along the shell of John's ear. "You have to know how I feel. You can't not know, John."

"This isn't…" John said fighting against the delicious electricity flooding his entire system. "a game."

"No," Sherlock said firmly. "It isn't."

Sherlock closed the gap and the kiss seemed to snap something within John. He pulled the taller man so close he could feel his heart beat through his clothing as he licked into his mouth and nibbled at his bottom lip. He felt a desperate thrum of arousal as Sherlock moaned into his mouth and slipped his hands under the back of John's shirt to grasp at his skin. John let Sherlock wrestle his jacket and button-down off as the shorter man backed them up to his bed. John nipped and licked down Sherlock's throat before stripping off his shirt to lick at one of his nipples. Sherlock's moan caused him to shudder and suck harder. He wrapped his arms around the skinny man and gripped his plush arse firmly before sliding his hands under the band to stroke that soft skin. Sherlock pivoted sharply before shoving John down onto the bed with a predatory gleam. He felt his breath hitch as the taller man crawled over him and started sucking on his earlobe. His entire body was tense with arousal and he couldn't stifle the keening breaths that escaped him. He gripped Sherlock's waist and slotted their hips together causing both of them to groan deeply. Letting Sherlock strip off his undershirt, he felt the first pulse of insecurity as the genius's gaze fell on his scar. He huffed humiliated and covered it self-consciously with his right hand.

"I know…" John whispered. "It's not…"

He felt his heart stutter as Sherlock forced his hand down and away so that he could kiss the knotted flesh softly. The detective traced the scar tissue lightly with his lips almost reverently and John felt something lodge firmly in his throat as he tried to swallow.

"This, John." Sherlock whispered against his skin. "All of this, all of you. It's gorgeous."

John huffed nervously and smiled, "You're not so bad yourself, you posh git."

Sherlock's matching smiled realigned his world and the kiss they shared was heated and needy. He felt himself drowning in pleasure as Sherlock began kissing down his throat lower and lower until he licked gently on the skin directly above John's trousers causing John to pant wantonly. He made quick work of the buttons and zip, stripping John feverishly before stripping off his own pants. He nestled between John's thighs before throwing a wicked grin up at the doctor and leaving a wet strip of saliva up John's cock as he licked from base to tip. John moaned as Sherlock took in the head of his cock and teased the flushed skin with that agile tongue. John gasped and panted as the taller man sucked him off with a sinful amount of talent. Just as John felt himself being dragged closer and closer to that sweet edge, he pulled Sherlock off with a delicious pop and hauled him up to kiss him breathless.

"I want to see your face…" John whispered between kisses and bucked his hips as Sherlock wrapped a hand around his erection and began stroking it quickly. John clung to him and exchanged sloppy kisses before arching against the taller man and finally allowing himself to fall into an overwhelming feeling of pleasure and heat and completion. He burrowed his face into Sherlock neck as he shuddered through each wave and he held on as the shudders turned to shivers which turned to shaking which finally turned to trembling. Sherlock wrapped his long arms around the doctor and held him close running his clean hand through his soldier's hair and brushing his lips repeatedly against his temple. When John finally felt confident enough to pull away a bit, his lips were stolen in a fierce, possessive kiss that left him almost dizzy.

John reached down to stroke Sherlock's neglected erection and felt heat fill his cheeks at the debauched moans issuing forth from his genius. A dozen strong pulls and Sherlock tensed and covered his hand with cum before collapsing against him and breathing heavily. They lay there wrapped up in each other for several minutes trying to catch their breath before Sherlock had the strength to draw himself up on wobbly elbows and pierce John's heart with his intense stare.

"I love you." Sherlock said firmly.

"Is that the endorphins talking?" John giggled nervously.

"No." Sherlock said sternly. "I love you. I need you to hear it and believe it because it's a fact."

"Sherlock…" John whispered brushing away an errant curl.

"I'm not good at this, John." Sherlock interrupted. "It doesn't come naturally and there is so much that I don't understand, but never ever doubt that I truly love you, alright? And I don't ever want to lose you. I want to be with you."

John felt his insides melt in a haze of hopeless affection. "I love you too, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes seemed to glow with warmth as he kissed John firmly on the mouth.

"Come back to Baker Street." Sherlock whispered. "Come home."

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"Hell no." Lestrade said into his receiver with a smirk. "You got yourself into this mess, you can move your own self back to Baker Street. I have six days of freedom with Mycroft and I'm not going to waste them lugging boxes."

His eyebrows rose at the inventive swears of one military doctor before he laughed and hung up. He turned over and curled around Mycroft's body in their bed and kissed his bare shoulder grinning at Mycroft's content sigh.

"Did he honestly think you'd get up at quarter to eight on a day off to help him move?" Mycroft asked aghast.

"Knowing your brother, he probably talked the poor bloke into it." Lestrade said cuddling closer relishing the feel of his partner's warm skin against his own.

"Do you not think he made the right choice?" Mycroft asked curious. "Forgiving Sherlock?"

"Of course he made the right choice." Lestrade answered. "But the tosser put him through hell first."

"Yes." Mycroft said quietly. "My brother and I do seem to suffer from the same personality disorder. I am sorry, Geoffrey."

"Sorry for what?" Lestrade asked.

"For how I treated you." Mycroft said. "You're a very good man and you deserved better."

Lestrade fought the lump in his throat before kissing Mycroft's shoulder again and sighing, "I do think I have better. I could never do better than you…but I am glad that you gave up the manipulative bastard routine."

"Yes, it was rather droll." Mycroft said turning to face his partner and kiss him lightly on the mouth. They kissed lazily as the light from the sun broke through the slats of the curtains and moved slowly across the floor.

"What would you like to do today?" Mycroft asked.

"I'm thinking we finally should make that trip to Ikea." Lestrade grinned.

"Best three out of five." Mycroft grumbled.

"You really detest Ikea that much?" Lestrade laughed.

"Now it's a matter of pride." Mycroft sniffed.

"Face it, My." Lestrade smirked. "You'll never win. I'm the undisputed championing of making you shatter under my ministrations."

"I do have skills of my own." Mycroft said silkily. "Would you like a demonstration?"

"What'd you have in mind?" Lestrade asked feeling his pulse jump.

"You've been rather tense lately." Mycroft purred. "Why don't you let me work out some of that stress?"

"Yes. Please." Lestrade sighed, rolling onto his stomach and settling comfortably into the feeling of Mycroft straddling his hips.

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Sherlock strode through the clinic excitedly bypassing the flustered desk attendant and letting himself into the back to find John. He was a few feet from his doctor's door when someone grabbed his shoulder lightly.

"Excuse me." The man said. "You can't be back here."

"I'm looking for Dr. Watson." Sherlock said.

"John?" The man said warmly.

Sherlock turned and eyed the man who was grinning happily.

"He's seeing a patient right now." The man said. "Can I help you?"

Sherlock felt his entire body tense with realization. He made a quick assessment of the man in front of him to double check is conclusion and felt a mix of loathing and smugness.

"You're Mark." Sherlock smirked.

"Ah, yes." The man said nonplussed. "Do we know each other?"

"No." Sherlock said firmly. "But Lestrade mentioned you."

"Lestrade?" The man frowned. "You work for the Yard then?"

"I work with the Yard." Sherlock said smugly.

He saw the confusion on Mark face before a door opened up behind them and John walked out. The grin on John's face made Sherlock's heart lurch painfully and he kissed John roughly on the mouth.

"Sherlock." John huffed pushing him away. "I'm working…oh…Mark…hi."

"John." Mark said looking uncomfortable and a little angry. "Who's this then?'

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock said smugly still clutching at John's hips with one hand and reaching around him to offer his hand for a shake.

"Sherlock?" Mark asked stunned. "The dead guy?"

"Right." John sighed. "Umm…he didn't actually die."

"I was involved in a complicated sting operation involving a carefully constructed criminal syndicate. It was essential for people to assume I'd died." Sherlock huffed.

"He just got back." John said drowning in embarrassment. "So…yeah."

"Right." Mark said looking completely lost. "Does your mad brother know about this?"

"Of course." Sherlock answered. "He is the British Government, you know."

"Excuse me?" Mark asked.

"He's also living with Lestrade who was my contact during the operation." Sherlock said.

"Okay." Mark said.

"Yeah, sorry." John said. "This is probably really confusing."

"You're all completely ridiculous." Mark said before backing away down the hall and disappearing from sight.

"Did you do that on purpose?" John asked the genius. "He thinks I'm a total nutter now."

"Of course not." Sherlock said with a devious grin. "Happy accident."

"Whatever." John said rolling his eyes. "Did you need something or did you just come here to make sure that I wasn't fornicating with any coworkers during working hours?"

"We have a case, John!" Sherlock smiled brightly. "Suspected arson with no detectable accelerant. Are you coming?"

"Oh god yes." John sighed happily.

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Lestrade rolled out of bed in the early morning hours moving quietly to avoid waking his tall partner. He'd been back at the Yard for three weeks and this was his first morning off since. A string of robberies and assaulted garbage workers had them chasing down leads for days on end. He was still completely knackered but couldn't seem to fall asleep. He made himself a cup of tea and curled up on the sofa to watch the London skyline brighten to the east. He fazed out and let his mind simply take in the world around him. The sky had turned a pale, rosy red when he heard Mycroft shuffle into the living area.

"You really should try and sleep." Mycroft whispered sitting across from him on the sofa and rubbing their bare feet together.

"I know." Lestrade answered. "But I don't think I want to."

"And why's that?" Mycroft asked curious. "This is your only day off this week."

"Because I'm happy." Lestrade said honestly. "I'm with you. And I find myself reluctant to sleep when you're around."

He watched with a grin as Mycroft's ears flushed pink and the corners of his mouth quirked up.

"Come here." Mycroft said quietly. Lestrade crawled over and turned around to tuck himself up between Mycroft's splayed thighs so that his back was cuddled against Mycroft's front. He sighed happily as Mycroft's fingers carded through his hair and his other hand rested low on his stomach.

"You make me happy, My." Lestrade breathed.

"I'm lucky then." Mycroft voice broke softly.

"Lucky?" Lestrade asked quietly.

"Yes." Mycroft said gently. "It means that I have you for a bit longer."

"Always." Lestrade said earnestly. "If you'll have me."

"Always." Mycroft answered kissing his hair lightly.

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**Alright everyone! That's the end of Despite Adversity! I would like to thank everyone for reading and/or reviewing! You're all brilliant! **

**~Couchbarnacle.**


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